Not a surprise coming from the likes of Urquhart. Not enough of a threat to report him, but a solid implication that would make you think twice. He was a man used to using leverage to get what he wanted. “What did you tell him, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“I told him I would consider it. You don’t want to mess with Richard. He’s very polished on the exterior, but underneath he’s volatile and has a wicked temper. He used to scare me to death when I was little. I think he’s always fancied himself as a bit of a tough guy.”
Greer paused in our wanderings to pick some weeds from around the roots of the boxwoods that bounded the gravel walkways that led back to the house. “You must think the board at the shelter is horrible,” Greer said.
“Not altogether. Seems to just be Urquhart, although I get the sense he and Ross are pals.”
“Ross’s the trust’s accountant and he does the books for TFL, Templeton Foods, Limited,” she explained. “Beyond that, I don’t really know him well. From a business standpoint, Colin seems happy. He must be honest and good with numbers, but to me he’s always just seemed kind of gray, if you know what I mean. Uninspired, uninspiring, and just somehow flat. His wife drives the bus in that house.”
“I thought he was the one with the money,” I observed.
“But she’s the one with the family name,” Greer remarked. “He likes the access to the clubs and the politicians. He gets clients that way, I’m sure. She just likes spending his money and, boy, does she. Not enough money on earth to make him any less drab and boring, as far as I’m concerned.”
Compared to Greer, he was just that—drab. The sparkle in her eyes when she talked about the plants she was cultivating and the fresh greenness of her surroundings made her seem vibrantly alive and colorful. She didn’t seem to know that Ross was more “outgoing” with the girls who watched the kids. As Karen said, he liked them weak and vulnerable. Greer certainly wasn’t that. She might defer to her brother on the financial side, but in her own fields she was the queen. I let my mind float free. Greer’s words surfaced. Enterprising, grounded, and green. I’d never had a color before, but Greer was definitely green. Almost like an aura. At one with her plants and the earth.
By now we had reached the door to the Victorian greenhouse adjacent to the main house. It was like a soaring fantasy birdcage. Greer invited me inside. “This is my favorite place on earth.” She sighed. “Mum had it built as soon as Dad was gone. Just because she could. This is where I grow the best of my specialty herbs and fruits.” Greer walked over and plugged in the kettle on her workbench. “We can go in the house if you like, but I usually just stay out here.”
“This is perfect.” I could feel my dry, winter-ravaged skin coming back to life in the warm, moist air. I wandered past the trellises of red and gold raspberries alongside pots of miniature pansies, roses, and violets.
“They’re all edible,” Greer said, coming up behind me. “I have several wedding cake makers who buy all of those. They candy them and scatter them across the royal icing of the cakes. Just gorgeous.”
I’d have to see if I could finagle a few for the vicar’s upcoming nuptials. I could bet the flowers would go down well with Trish and the bridal brigade. “It’s all beautiful,” I said. “Most of all, you’re so lucky that you get to do what you love.”
“You as well.” Greer laughed. “Amanda tells me you’ve taken to farming a bit, as well as running your distillery.”
“Yes, I have a sideline in geriatric sheep. In fact, that’s how Amanda and I met.”
“Greer, you in here?” A loud voice echoed along the metal rafters. Colin Templeton came through the door at the far end of the structure, and Greer stepped out from behind the raspberry trellises to meet him. “Who’s blocking the drive, and where the hell are the crates of endive you were preparing? Clients are waiting.”
I stepped around the trellis to stand next to Greer. “My car, sorry. I just stopped by for a quick tour. I’ll get it out of your way.”
“Please, don’t rush off,” Greer said.
“Yes, stay for a cup of tea,” Colin said, smiling mischievously. “It won’t take Greer long to gather up that lettuce.”
I felt I’d stepped into the middle of a good-natured but ongoing sibling squabble. I’d never had a sibling, but I’d guess working together could be difficult at times, although the Templetons seemed to have found a division of labor that worked for them. Colin’s words came tripping along—aspiring, pragmatic, subtle. A perceptive entrepreneur who was making a good life for himself and his sister.
“No, really, I should be going,” I insisted, turning to Greer. “Thanks for showing me around. I’m so impressed with all you two have done.” I included Colin in my summation of their efforts. “It’s an amazing success story. You should try to get some coverage from the newspapers in Edinburgh. Could be a great boost to your business.”
Colin raised his hands in mock horror. “We’ve got all the clients we can handle for the time being. Any more and we’ll be turning them away, but thanks for the thought.”
“I could use some press for the herb side of the business,” Greer said thoughtfully. “But then again, it might be a bit soon for that?”
Colin walked me toward the door. “There will be plenty of time for that as the spring wears on. Thanks for stopping by, Abi. Look forward to seeing you at the next board meeting.”
I waved out the window and watched the green oasis receding behind me. Colin and Greer thought that Urquhart had a significant financial interest in hustling the shelter’s relocation along. Money’s the only thing that matters to him, Greer said. I’d heard Urquhart myself speaking of the shelter’s residents as if they were things, not people. Sheila called and likely confronted Urquhart with something the day she disappeared. I didn’t know what, but it was something significant if it had rattled Urquhart enough to make him get rid of her. The thought made my stomach turn. He probably thought he could get away with it, but he was wrong. If he’d harmed Sheila, I’d make sure he was held accountable, for her sake and for all the “expendable” women at the shelter.
Chapter 9
I made good time back to Balfour, pulling into the High Street in time for a quick stop at the Bennett Logan Memorial Trust offices. It was nearly four, worth stopping by to see if Trish was around. When I came through the front door she was hard at it, applying a layer of topcoat to her lime green nails and humming along to a pop song on the radio.
“Hiya, boss,” she said with a broad grin.
I gave her what I hoped was a stern look. “How’s the filing going?”
“All done,” Trish said dismissively. “Been mainly focusing on the wedding. So many details, Fiona has no idea. Eight days and counting and she’s still not tried on the dress. I mean really, that’s the most important thing.”
“Maybe not to Fiona,” I observed. “The filing’s all finished?” I prodded again.
“Aye. I got some fancy folders online last week.” She fanned her nails in the direction of a dozen boxes of brightly colored files. “Aren’t they brilliant? Each of the charities we work with gets a different color. Easy to keep track of that way. I made personal files on all the people we coordinate with, then did a file on each charity’s business plan and another one for financials. I can run a printout for you for each quarter to see how they’re usin’ our money if ya like.”
I flipped through one of the files on the top of the stack. The work was actually impressive. Trish might look as if she was more focused on filing her nails than filing my papers, but it seemed it was more of an even obsession. I’d interviewed her mainly because she was a friend’s niece and I’d hired her because she assumed I would. I hadn’t been optimistic at first, but her work was proving to be first-rate. Especially anything that had to do with numbers. “Well done,” I said.
“Found you some bits and piece
s on Jenny Woodyard,” Trish said, reaching into the desk and pulling out a bright pink file. “These folders are for yer more personal files, unless you’d like somethin’ a bit more subtle for casework.”
“This isn’t casework,” I insisted.
“Right ye are,” Trish said with a broad wink. “Anyroad, this girl Jenny Woodyard has been pretty low-key on the socials lately. She has a Facebook page but hasn’t posted anything in over a year. I tried her maiden name, which was Lawrence, according to the county records, but didn’t get nowt. I finally tracked her to Instagram. She has an account there under a different name. She called herself Jane Dough. None too creative, but there you go.”
Trish could have a successful sideline as a professional stalker. “Are you sure it’s her?”
“ ’Course I am,” she scoffed. “I trailed her through her Facebook friends. Found them on Instagram and then searched their friends. Took a bit of time ’cause I was looking for the name Jenny, but then I started looking at crossover friends and photos they were tagged in. That’s how I found her. Suppose if I had a bastard of a husband out there somewhere, I’d want to change my name, too.”
“Can you give me the names of some of her friends?”
“She was mainly followin’ pop stars and the like, but here are the names of a couple of friends she shared with regular like. These two both work at that place you asked me to look into. Manorcare.”
Now we were getting somewhere. “Both girls work for Manorcare?”
“Aye. One in Glasgow and one at the place in Stirling. Want me to get in touch with them?”
“Thank you, no.” Trish was efficient, but hardly subtle.
“Aw, come on. I can be discreet. Really. I know when to keep me mouth shut and I’m not scared of nothin’.”
“I’m sure you’re not, but tell me what you found out about Manorcare.”
“It’s a fancy old folks home. Expensive, posh chain. They have about seven of ’em in Scotland. Most farther up north, Aberdeen and Inverness and such, but there’s one in Stirling and two in Glasgow. Looks like they’re openin’ one in Edinburgh soon.”
I looked at the slip of paper Trish’d handed me. The two girls were friends of Jenny’s. They deserved to be told about her death, but it would be better if the news came from someone at the Rest.
I drove back to the Haven, and Liam came bolting from round the back of the house as soon as I pulled into the drive, with Oscar trotting along behind. Oscar looked pink and somewhat abashed, but he was certainly moving with more vigor, having shed several pounds’ worth of fleece. I felt I’d been neglecting them of late, so I ran around the backyard with the two of them for a while, enjoying the frivolous activity and doing my best to clear my head of the angry thoughts crashing around in my skull. Duncan Ross abusing the abused and thinking he could get away with it, Richard Urquhart bullying those who got in the way of his greed and ambition. They were emblematic of so many of the evil things I’d seen in the world.
My spiraling thoughts were halted by the buzz of my cellphone in my back pocket. Amanda’s name popped up and I flopped down in one of Hunter’s carved wooden chairs, trying not to sound out of breath.
“What’s happening?”
“The police were here all afternoon re-questioning the girls. They now seem to think Jenny was drugged, and the way they were going on, it looks like they suspect Duncan Ross was involved. Can you believe it?”
“Actually, yes I can.” I had to smile at the thought of the police returning to Duncan Ross’s place. He’d be thrilled. “I’m glad they seem to be on the right track with Jenny.” I raised a victorious fist. For the moment, at least, we were one for two.
“But how awful if it’s true,” Amanda said.
“Are the girls talking more now?” I asked.
“Much more freely than they were. Karen and Cheryl admitted they had to help Jenny to bed, she was so unsteady on her feet.”
At least the police seemed to be on top of Jenny’s situation. I gave Amanda the names of Jenny’s two friends that Trish had found. “You should probably let them know what has happened.”
“Right, I’ll send them a note.”
“Anything new on Sheila?” I asked.
“Not really. They’re still stuck on the idea that Sheila had some connection to Jenny’s death. Worse yet, they want social services to come and take Nora into care since there’s no family close by to take her.”
“Can’t she stay with you?”
“Apparently not. They want her in foster care. ‘A stable family environment’ that they feel a woman’s shelter doesn’t provide. Sheila will be devastated if she comes back and Nora isn’t here. When she comes back,” Amanda corrected herself hastily.
“Isn’t there someone you know down there who’d fit the bill? A friend maybe?”
“Any family would have to be approved by the council and that takes time. Until then—”
“She’d be stuck in care with strangers,” I finished. “I wish I could have her up here in Balfour. She needs to get a break from the city until this is sorted out, and this would be a good respite.”
“Don’t suppose there’s a foster family up there that could take her?” Amanda asked.
“Not that I know of.” I thought about Louisa. Luke was roughly the same age as Nora and there was plenty of room up at the Larches. The question was: Would Grant be willing to have company, and would social services in Edinburgh approve? I couldn’t promise, but it was worth a try. “I may have an idea. Let me see what I can work out.”
I hung up and reached over to scratch Liam’s head. I needed to run over to the Larches to check on Grant and to talk to him and Louisa. If I was about to nominate the two of them as foster parents, I’d have to clear it first and find a way to get them approved. Possibly the word of a detective inspector from Stirling would carry some weight.
I led Oscar back to the home pasture and opened the car door for Liam. He leapt in and settled in his usual spot, head and chest hanging out the window. We rattled slowly down the dirt road that connected the Haven and the Glen and found Hunter and Cam in the yard examining a stack of barrels.
Cam raised a hand in greeting and called out, “Thought you’d run off again, lass. Any chance you can stick around long enough to sign a few papers?”
“I’ll be back later this afternoon, I promise. Just have to run by the Larches. How’s the wind blowing?”
“Still a bit stormy,” Cam acknowledged, “but Grant’s been down here the past two mornings. Takin’ a bit more interest in what’s goin’ on.”
“That’s something at least.” I turned to Hunter. “The fleeceless flock looks much happier. Where’d we stash the wool?”
“In t’barn at lower field.”
“Great. I’ll make arrangements to get it out of there.”
“Ye may need more than that wee thing,” Hunter said, gesturing in the direction of Hope’s diminutive proportions. “ ’Tis a lot of wool.”
I hadn’t really thought about that, but first things first. I waved goodbye to Hunter and Cam and continued along the main road, heading deeper into the valley before turning in to the winding Westvale Lane that led to the gates of the MacEwen estate.
I was anxious to see Grant and to find out how he was doing. It had only been two days, but in some ways I felt as if I hadn’t seen him in a week. News of his engagement had put a wall up between us. We’d have to find our way over it or around it, but I wasn’t sure how, and I’d been forestalling the inevitable time alone, because I’d no idea what to say or do. All I knew was that Grant wasn’t a toy to be squabbled over. If he really wanted to marry Brenna, then all I could do was offer my congratulations.
As I pulled to a stop in the yard, Liam jumped through the open car window to get to his friend Luke, who was kicking a football around the front cou
rtyard. Luke skidded to his knees like a goalie and threw his arms around Liam’s neck.
“Hi Abi,” he called. “Can Liam stay here with me? I’m supposed to play outside ’cause I’m too loud while Mr. MacEwen’s restin’.”
I smiled. “Sure, you two can keep each other company. Where’s your mum?”
“Kitchen,” Luke called over his shoulder as he and Liam took off running across the vast expanse of lawn. It was a heavenly place for a kid. It would be a nice change of pace from the city air for Nora if this worked out.
I didn’t fancy knocking on the front door and having to face Brenna right away, so I took the gravel path past the banks of aged hydrangea bushes starting to show green on the brown sticks of the prior year’s growth, around to the back side of the house, and approached the kitchen door. It was propped open to allow the heat to escape, and with it came the scent of fresh bread. Nothing like it in the world. The smell of home and hearth and love all rolled into one.
I stuck my head in the door and found Louisa with a dish towel over one shoulder, struggling to constrain some stray strands of hair in the bun at the back of her head. The steam had caused the tendrils to curl up around her face like sweet pea vines.
“Thought you were missing in action,” she grumbled affectionately.
“I got tied up with something in the city,” I said by way of an apology.
Louisa gestured to the kitchen table and plopped down a jar of homemade strawberry preserves along with two plates and went to retrieve a fresh loaf from the cooling rack.
“Sit ye down. I’m guessing you haven’t stopped to eat.”
I had to grin. Louisa was right. I loved food but often forgot to eat because I was so preoccupied with other things.
“It smells heavenly. You cooking for a crowd?”
“No. Grant fancies fresh bread and it has the added bonus of driving herself a bit mad.” Louisa grinned. “She doesn’t eat any carbohydrates.” Louisa’s eyebrows arched skyward. “It’s no wonder she’s so skinny and grumpy all the time.”
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